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Penelope Stansfield

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2024

Stories (35)

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76 Followers

93 Following

35 Stories

1105 karma pts

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Call of Domestic Duty, by Declan, age forty one and a half

Penelope Stansfield

Submitted to Contest #299

It’s just after ten in the morning. I’ve been awake for four hours and it feels like it should be bedtime already. After the battle of the breakfast table (cornflakes or toast Maisie? No, we don’t have smashed avocado), I dispatched the kids to school, well, I shoved them through the gates (‘Yes Alfie, you do have fish paste on your sandwiches, and yes, that’s all there is.’) and ran like my life depended on it. Since then, I’ve folded a pile of laundry, half of which I’m sure doesn’t belong to anyone in this house, fished a Lego man and one...

10 likes

The south facing window

Penelope Stansfield

Submitted to Contest #298

*some sexual content*Daisy looks out across the grey concrete landscape below. Her coffee’s gone cold and the sparrow that’s been flitting about on the window ledge all morning, has gone. Daisy can just about make out cherry blossom on the trees below, the only bit of nature deemed appropriate for the residents of Elizabeth Towers. Spring is beginning to bloom in all its glory, and Daisy, a systems analyst, is working from home in a cold, east facing flat that the sun only touches with its weak rays in the earliest hours of the day.It’s midd...

14 likes

All the time in the world

Penelope Stansfield

Submitted to Contest #297

“Honestly, Alex, what the hell made you think this was a good idea?” Colette visibly sulked through the dark-panelled rooms of Greatmead Hall.“I thought,” Alex kept his voice low, “a bit of culture would be nice for a change. Instead of trailing round the shops like we do every Saturday.” He bit his lip. That was going to hit a nerve.“But this is just so boring!” Colette almost stamped her feet. “You knew I needed a new outfit. Stella will think I’m a tramp if I don’t wear something new tonight. But you wanted to come here. Boring!”“You know...

23 likes

Painful precious words

Penelope Stansfield

Submitted to Contest #296

The rivers have turned into waterfalls but the springs and flowing eddies have run dry and cease to flow. There is a key to the box that remains closed. It is there, somewhere, but its keeper cannot see the way to the small hole in the escutcheon, even though there is light and the key is held firmly in their hand. I carry these contradictions with me as I venture on through the dense woodland, thick with pine and birdsong, spores and hurrying ants, blindly building something that they can barely see. The pointed hoof prints of some fallow d...

25 likes

Airing Cupboard Alchemy

Penelope Stansfield

Submitted to Contest #295

All the nice girls love a sailor,All the nice girls love a tar.For there's something about a sailor,(Well you know what sailors are!)Bright and breezy, free and easy,He's the ladies' pride and joy!He falls in love with Kate and Jane,then he's off to sea again,Ship ahoy, ship ahoy!But enough of that old English music hall song for a moment, we’ll come back to that shortly. For now, let me ask you a question…What springs to mind when you think of magic? Perhaps a showman in a flashy tuxedo with a corny catchphrase, a top hat, and white rabbits...

27 likes

Well, that's what she said...

Penelope Stansfield

Submitted to Contest #294

“At least she’s got big bangers.” “Who’s ‘she’ then? The cat’s mother?” “Oh, you know Len. Her down the road. Thinks herself something special like. All tits and lipstick. You know the one.” I’m not sure that I do. From what Jim tells me, the girl that’s got him riled could be any one of a number living on our street. “So anyway,” Jim takes a gulp of his pint, “she… her from down the road. Someone’s said that she’s up the flaming duff. And get this, right. This is the stupid part. T...

29 likes

Yellow roses for mother

Penelope Stansfield

Submitted to Contest #293

My reflection, dark and slightly haunted, looks back at me from the train window. We pass into a tunnel, completely black, just me and the dark, and an image of myself that I could almost like.I don’t know why I chose this train, it’s too busy. A steel tube filled with joyless people avoiding eye contact. I keep my eyes focused on my own, until we pull in at the next station, where I look out across the platform. There’s one spare seat next to me. I’m going to have company soon. I keep my eyes fixed. The al...

26 likes

And then the red one enters

Penelope Stansfield

Submitted to Contest #292

A great artist once said, ‘Colour! What a deep and mysterious language, the language of dreams’. Depending on the situation or distraction, this philosophy unquestionably plays an integral part in Herbert Truelove’s meandering existence. Floating and gliding from one state of contented, colourful contemplation to the next, regardless of the consequences.It is Tuesday. Spring has just about sprung and a dapple of weak sunlight is finally threatening to break through the clouds that have been in perpetual domination since l...

21 likes

The cards that life deals

Penelope Stansfield

Submitted to Contest #291

“That was my finest hour!” shrieks Anna across the table, almost knocking over Tina’s wine glass as she gesticulates wildly with her arms, animated as ever, even more so after we’ve gone through a few bottles of sauvignon blanc.“And then you fell asleep on the bus!” Elaine chimes in, her dark eyes sparkling in the light of the log fire that keeps our local pub warm as toast in the winter months.David the landlord sidles over from the bar in his usual nonchalant way. “You ladies having another bottle then?” he grins as he collects the em...

27 likes

The shoes the fairies gave her

Penelope Stansfield

Submitted to Contest #290

The fading evening sky hovers gently above the place where the forest meets the moor and meadows. Small sounds of life scurry and hasten across the warming earth, whilst above, a brush stroke paints a vision of hazy blue, touched by the pinks and purples of early evening. The scented air of spring lies soft and still, holding everything in place for a single moment, a perpetual landscape. Villages and farms stretch away in the distance, held by pale strands of stratus that dips, touching the earth below. It is a time unde...

14 likes

A fleeting present predicament of past and future

Penelope Stansfield

Submitted to Contest #289

Once, in a time not unlike ours, in a nearby land, lived a man and a woman known as Mr and Mrs Fleet. They inhabited a house that was neat and modest in size, positioned within a row of other neat and modest sized houses with tidy gardens to the rear and well presented driveways to the front. The residents of these houses, much like their homes, were orderly, predictable and polite, going about their lives in a tidy and modest way. To any casual observer, everything appeared exactly as it should - regular and routine, with ...

21 likes

Learning to breathe again

Penelope Stansfield

Submitted to Contest #288

The solitary figure had been leaning on the wall across the road for at least an hour, with no company except for the lone jackdaw that hopped from one door to the next. Stella peered anxiously around the corner of her living room window, glad of the voile curtain that afforded her a little privacy. The figure’s head bent downwards against the deluge of rain that had set in earlier that afternoon, their face hidden beneath the tent-like hood of a yellow mackintosh. Their hands were stuffed into deep pockets, feet in long rubbe...

21 likes

A cup of mortal longing

Penelope Stansfield

Submitted to Contest #287

Gillian carried the tray of trembling white porcelain between the tables of the busy cafe, heading towards the corner and the only empty seat. Once settled at the formica table, on a small, unnecessarily hard chair, she set out her tea things, poured a cup from the bullet shaped teapot and sighed, closing her eyes momentarily. ‘How a cramped little cafe can be such a source of bliss,’ she thought to herself, and then reached into her bag and took out her paperback, placing it carefully on the table, establishing herself in the co...

15 likes

The boy, the sheep and the forest

Penelope Stansfield

Submitted to Contest #286

Doran had never travelled beyond the village before, and as he stood at the edge of the narrow dirt track winding into the distant hills, he was filled with anticipation of the journey ahead. The two sheep, destined for market in the neighbouring village, tugged gently at their ropes and Doran felt a swell of pride at the responsibility his father had bestowed on him with this important task, but his mother’s parting words had instilled a lingering sense of trepidation in the young man. "Stay on the path," she’d warned him that m...

13 likes

Public enema and other modern stuff of 1989

Penelope Stansfield

Submitted to Contest #285

”Any sausages left mum?” I swirl the stubby end of my last sausage in the cooling gravy, catching bits of mashed potato clinging to the edge of the plate. “All gone Mark, need to save some for your dad,” mum at the sink, tipping frying pan fat into an empty baked bean can. “He’s on a late shift, will be home later.” She covers the sausages, mash, and gravy with an upside-down plate and sets it on the cooker, ready to warm over boiling water when Dad gets home. I keep telling them to get a microwave, everyone else has one but mum ...

13 likes